by John Norman
I stuck my head out of the alcove. "Who is there?" I called, as though alarmed. "Is there anyone there?" Who is it?"
I then heard another whistle, from my right, toward the entrance to the tunnel. This was answered by one from my left, toward the end of the tunnel. There was then another insistent whistle from my right. It was no closer. The whistle from my left, then, was a bit closer. This was what I had hoped for. They would hope to coordinate their efforts, to take me between them, at the same time.
"Who is there?" I called again, once more as though alarmed.
"Do not fear," called a voice, from the right. "We mean you no harm. Are you Tarl, of Port Kar?"
"Yes," I said. "I am he!"
"We have a message for you," said the voice.
"Yes," I said.
"Remain where you are," said the voice. "We will bring you the message." "You are certain that you mean well?" I inquired.
"Yes, yes," said the fellow to the right, soothingly. I could now hear the small sound of the metal, presumably a knife, on the stones, coming from my left. Did they really think I would believe that two fellows were needed to deliver a message?
"I am not certain of that," I said.
"Do not be alarmed," said the fellow to the right.
"You have a message for me?" I asked.
"Yes," said the fellow to the right.
"I am drawing my sword," I said. I then withdrew the blade from the sheath a good deal more noisily than was necessary. I did not want them to mistake the sound. I thought that that would give them something to think about. I wanted them to be somewhat alarmed. Then, when I sheathed it, they might be inclined to act more swiftly, more precipitately. "We are friends," said the fellow to the right, in the darkness. In there intentness, in their hunt, in the darkness, I did not think they would be keeping track of the alcoves. They would, in any case, have had to feel carefully for them. They would be thinking, I expected, only in terms of the tunnel and the walls. I had, further, led them to believe that I was in the tunnel itself. Too, surely this would seem reasonable to them. I had further confirmed this suspicion by the drawing of the blade. Presumably such a draw would not take place in the close quarters of an alcove, were there was little room for its wielding. To be sure, there was not much room in the tunnel either, though thrusting could surely be dangerous. With the sword drawn I did not think either would care to be the first to make contact with me. With it sheathed both, for all I knew, and particularly the fellow on the right, might be eager to make the first strike.
"Sheath your sword," said the fellow on the right.
"No," I said.
"We will then not deliver the message," he said.
"Very well," I said.
"But we must deliver it," he said. "It is a matter of life and death." "That sounds serious," I granted him.
"It is," he assured me.
"From whom does this message come?" I asked.
"From the regent himself," said the fellow.
"I see," I said.
I doubted, personally, that the regent would be sending me messages, and, if so, that he would be doing it in this fashion. I was prepared to believe, however, that the business to which these fellows were about might have its origins in individuals close to the regent. Their mention of the regent, of course, convinced me that they were not common assailants, after a purse.
Run-of-the-mill brigands would surely refrain from allusions so dubious and exalted, allusions so incredible that they would be sure to put a normal fellow on his guard.
"How may we convince you of our good intentions?" he asked. I heard him come a foot or so closer. "I would consider that to be your problem," I said. "Not mine." I heard the fellow on the left come a little closer.
"Are you armed?" I asked.
"We will slide our knives, sheathed, along the tunnel floor," said the fellow at the right. "That way you will know we come in peace."
"Excellent," I said.
In a moment two objects, presumably sheaths, though I doubted from the sound they contained knives, with some buckles and straps, came sliding along the tunnel floor, one from the right, the other from the left. I judged the two fellows to be about equidistant, each about ten feet away. They had a good idea of my approximate location, it seemed, from my voice.
"I am convinced," I announced. Actually I was not quite candid in this announcement.
"Sheath your sword," said the fellow on the right. I heard them both coming a little closer.
"There," I said, thrusting the blade back in the sheath. I then drew my head back. "Where is the message?" I asked.
"Here!" I heard, from the right, this cry coupled with the rush forward of a body in the darkness.
"Die!" I heard, from the left, with the sound of another rapidly moving body. I then heard some very ugly noises in the tunnel outside the entrance to the alcove. I was within the alcove, my quiva in hand. If anyone tried to enter these limited quarters, it would be quite easy in the darkness, he in such an exposed position, to cut fiercely at his head and neck.
I listened.
There was not much noise outside. I could hear some gasping, and also some coughing, and spitting. Someone's lungs seemed to be clutching at breath. Not very successfully, it seemed. From the sound of the coughing, that of the other fellow I think, I conjectured that the mouth might be filling with welled-up blood. I think both of them were there. I think they were both just outside the alcove, perhaps locked in one another's arms, or now, leaning against one another, supporting one another. I wondered if they realized what had happened, or if each, puzzled, thought he had closed with this fellow Tarl, of Port Kar. Then I heard one of the bodies take another thrust. Then they seemed, both, to fall to the side, and then, it seemed, one was trying to move away, crawling. That might have been the fellow who had been on the left. I could hear the movement of the knife on the stones. Then whoever it was, coughing, and with a grunt, sank to the stones. The knife was then quiet. It had been a short trip. Doubtless the stones would be sticky. They would have to be cleaned in the morning. Slaves could do that, or, perhaps, the free woman I had been offered earlier in the evening, she who had been in the wrap-around tunic, the Lady Labiena, who was being "kept for a friend." I supposed the hostesses might enjoy having her do such things, perhaps monitoring her work with a whip or pointed stick.
I continued to listen. I now heard nothing.
I think both of these fellows had probably been reasonably skillful. They probably knew their business. I did not think this task would have been assigned novices. They had just mistaken their victim.
I continued to listen patiently for a few Ehn. It was now quiet outside the alcove. I heard nothing. Then I heard a tiny sound behind me. I had not realized I was not alone in the alcove. I spun about, quiva ready. It was now again quiet. I put the quiva in my left hand, extending my left arm. I then silently drew my sword. The quiva presumably could act as a probe and defense. The sword, the quick, short double-edged Gorean gladius, was drawn back for a thrust. "Who is there?" I asked. It was absolutely quiet. "Speak," I said, "or I strike." I then heard a tiny, almost inaudible desperate, protesting, whimpering sound. I heard, too, the desperate movement of bare feet, moving back and forth, and pounding on the stones. I heard, too, the jerk of chain against a ring. With the sword and quiva, protecting myself first with one and then the other, and probing about, using them alternately, and generally keeping away from the source of the sound, I determined to my satisfaction that the alcove was empty save for myself and the source of the sound. Then, using the side of the sword, moving it twice laterally in the darkness, touching the object in the darkness on either side, as it hastily and fearfully, scrambling, pulled its legs back, and up, and whimpered. I specifically located the source of this sound. I sheathed the sword.
I then silently approached the object on its right side. Reaching forth I took it by its hair that I might locate it and hold it in place and moved the point of the quiva, the blade he
ld sideways, that it might slip between the ribs, a tiny bit into its side, about half the width of a drop of blood. There was a protesting whimper. The object did not move, held in place. I let it feel the point a little more. It was then absolutely quiet, and immobile. I drew the point back a bit, but kept it mostly where it was. The object could feel it in contact with its skin. I then moved my left hand downward from its hair to check the wrists. They were shackled behind its back, chained to a ring. I tested the shackles. They were light shackles. But they would be quite effective, if locked, for such an object. They were locked. It was sitting then in the alcove, its hands back-shackled, its back to the alcove wall, close against it, its knees drawn up. I sheathed the quiva.
I then felt round the object's mouth. It was well gagged, with Gorean efficiency, with packing and binding. It made tiny whimpers. These whimpers, of course, had been female noises. They are unmistakable, even with the gagging, that stern impediment to expression which her captor, or captors, had chosen to impose on her, that device, inflicted upon her, by means of which it had been decided that she would not be able to speak. I lowered my hands. She whimpered, perhaps trying to call attention to her desire to speak.
"Be silent," I said. I crouched beside her in the darkness. I wondered if she were a slave. I moved my hands up her body, to determine whether or not she was collared. She whimpered, in desperate protest. "Be silent," I said, "or you will be cuffed." She was silent. I felt her throat. It was innocent of any metallic circlet of bondage. She had been nicely breasted.
"Are you a free woman?" I asked, interested. She made some noises, which I took to be affirmative whimpers.
I recalled the device that my hostess had used in communicating with the slave Lale, a not uncommon one, or, at least, one of not uncommon type, for females put in the modality of the she-quadruped. "You will whimper once for "Yes, " I said, "and twice for "No, Do you understand?"
She whimpered once.
"Would you like to have your gag removed?" I asked.
She whimpered once, eagerly.
"Are you a free woman?" I asked.
She whimpered once.
Then she scrambled back against the wall, pushing back against it, uttering urgent, protesting whimpers.
"I do not detect any brands on your body," I said, "at least in the normal brand sites. Perhaps you are telling the truth," The most common branding sites for a Gorean slave are on the left or right thigh, high, near the hip. Others may wear their brands variously, for example, low on the left abdomen, on the inside of the left forearm, on the left breast, or, very tiny, behind the left ear. I myself do not approve of brands on the breast. A woman's breasts, in my opinion, are too beautiful for a brand. On the other hand I do not object to temporarily marking them in such a place, say, with a grease pencil, lipstick, or paint, as many slavers do. The ideal, of course, given the necessity of marking women, the importance of which anyone recognizes, is to do it in such a fashion that it does not detract from a woman's beauty, but rather enhances it, and considerably. The thigh brand, for one, has this effect. It also, put in her flank, below her waist, helps her to understand what her slavery is all about. Her breasts of course, in which so much of her luscious femaleness is naturally manifested, do not escape notice in her bondage. They are as open and available to the master as any other part of her. After all, he owns the whole slave. Accordingly she knows that they, so sweet and soft, so delicious and marvelous, so wonderful and exciting, will, like the rest of her, without a second thought, be submitted to attentions appropriate to her status. For example, they may be lovingly handled, and kissed and caressed by the master however and as long as he pleases. Too, they might be emphasized and accentuated by various forms of garments and bindings. The tying of slave girdles, for example, and the arrangement of binding fiber, often has this subtle, delicious feature in mind. Too, of course, they may be confined, if one wishes, in open brassieres of cord, or netting.
She whimpered once, angrily.
"Surely you cannot criticize my curiosity," I said. "One does not usually expect to find a free woman chained naked in a slave alcove in a brothel." My investigations concerning brand sites had, as a side effect, of course, informed me that she was unclothed, except for her shackles.
She made a number of angry noises.
"Are you displeased?" I asked.
She whimpered, once, angrily.
"Are you angry?" I asked.
She whimpered again, once, even more angrily. Then she made a number of other angry noises.
"Do you wish to speak?" I asked.
She whimpered once, angrily.
"You would like me to remove your gag?" I asked.
She made a single, short noise, very insistently. I waited. She repeated it. "Oh," I said. "You do not wish me to remove your gag."
She then whimpered twice, insistently.
"You do want me to remove your gag?" I asked.
She whimpered once, very definitely, very clearly, just once.
"But I have not done so, have I?" I asked. "Perhaps you think I have forgotten to do so, that it has somehow slipped my mind. That is not it at all, however. I was merely inquiring, before and now, if you would like to have it removed. That is what I was interested in. That is all. I have never had any intention of removing it. I am not interested, for example, in hearing from you."
There was a startled noise, and some puzzled ones.
"No," I said. I then put my right hand on her neck under her chin and forced her head up and back.
She made a frightened noise.
"You are in no position," I said, "to be displeased, or angry, or impatient, or peremptory, in any way."
She was silent.
I then put my hand on her, and she whimpered, and drew back, pushing back, frightened against the wall of the alcove. I then took her ankles in my hands. I let her try for a moment to resist me. Then I spread her ankles widely. "Do you understand?" I asked.
She whimpered once, frightened.
"Good," I said. I then released her ankles and she drew them hastily back and together, pulling her knees up, and close together, and, as she could, turned her right side to me.
"Were you the female who was brought in a sack, earlier this evening?" I asked. She whimpered once.
"Are you beautiful?" I asked.
She whimpered twice.
"Then there would be no point in my having my way with you, would there?" I asked.
She whimpered twice.
"I think that I shall strike a light," I said.
She whimpered twice, piteously.
"And if I find that you have lied, and that you are beautiful, I shall use youa€”and as a slave."
Two whimpers.
"Very well," I said. "I shall give you another chance. Are you beautiful?" She whimpered once, in defeat.
"Or at least you think you are beautiful," I said.
She whimpered once.
"Then perhaps I should use you," I said.
She whimpered twice, piteously.
"If you are a free woman," I said, "then, from what I have heard, there may be something around here." I felt about the alcove. "Yes," I said, "here it is." I had located some binding fiber at the side, and a leather thong, with a coin, presumably a tarsk bit, threaded on it. That was to be used, I recalled having heard from my hostess, if she was used in her stay in the brothel. "There is some binding fiber here," I said. "Do you know what it is for?"
She whimpered twice, frightened.
"For binding you," I said. "If you are used tonight you are to be put out naked in the morning, in the alley, your hands tied behind your back with this binding fiber."
She whimpered twice, in protest.
"There is also a coin here, a tarsk bit, I think, threaded on a leather thong. Do you know what that is for?"
She whimpered twice.
I took the thong and coin and, putting my arms about her, tied the thong about her waist, fastening it behind her back. The coin t
hen was at her belly. With my thumb I pushed it back into her belly, that she might clearly feel its shape and know its location. Then I let it dangle there, resting on her belly. "This coin," I said, "when you were put out in the morning, if you were used tonight, was to be tied there. It signifies to all who see it that you have served a man. You are given the coin because you are a free woman. That is your payment. To be sure it is the smallest-denomination coin in common circulation. It is, thus, a comment on your value."
She moaned in protest. I removed the thong and coin from her waist. I laid it, with the binding fiber, to the side.
She whimpered gratefully.
"I know you are a free woman," I said, "but are you prepared now, in the light of your recent experiences, to reform your behavior, to be at least minimally polite, to observe certain basic amenities, and to conduct your life and business at least generally in accordance with simple canons of common civility and courtesy?"
She was silent.
I put my hand on her.
She whimpered once, quickly.
"Good," I said. "Since someone put you here, presumably as a punishment, I gather you have been something of a she-sleen." She whimpered once.
"But that is going to change now, isn't it?" I asked.
One whimper.
"You see," I said, putting my hand on her thigh, she trying to pull back, "this is not really much of a punishment. Many other things would have been done to you. For example, from a place such as this, it would be no great trick for you to be delivered to a slaver. Indeed, perhaps a slaver has an appointment with you in this alcove before morning. I do not know."